


Kara Sevda

by RK_Anon (Rochelle_Templer)



Series: Ineffable Husbands Bingo fics [4]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Brief Violence, Fluff and Angst, I mean truly oblivious and hopeless idiots in love this time, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Self-Harm, and a more mature tone than most of my fics, and some smuttier content eventually, however it will also have some very soft fluff and some humor, however no actual rape will occur in this fic, ok so this one is going to have some much darker angst, so it won't all be grim-dark I promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-10-06 03:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20500163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/RK_Anon
Summary: After the Notpocalypse, Crowley navigates life as an ex-agent of Hell and his feelings over the possibility of developing his relationship with Aziraphale into something more than an Arrangement.Meanwhile, Aziraphale, on a quest for answers to some questions of his own, signs himself up for a dating service.Both are unaware of how complicated their lives are about to become....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another fic for the Ineffable Husbands Bingo project. The prompt filled with this one is "it's my job to look after you."

-_To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves_\--Federico Garcia Lorca

* * *

“All right, what’s wrong, angel?”

“Wrong? My dear, what makes you think that anything is wrong?”

“Because you’ve been staring at the dessert platter for the last five minutes without eating a single one. So, what’s going on?”

Aziraphale let out a long sigh while Crowley leaned back in his chair. The two of them were at their favorite table at the Ritz, as had become the norm these last three months. Crowley was about to recommend ordering another bottle of wine when he finally had had enough of the way that Aziraphale gazed at the lavish spread of miniature cakes in front of them without actually looking at any of them.

The demon poured what was left in the current bottle into his glasses and took a long sip. Ever since the Almospocalypse, Heaven and Hell had been thankfully hands off when dealing with them. Crowley hadn’t heard a word from Beelzebub, though he doubted that the Lord of Hell had forgotten about him.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, finally did get a message from the Metatron. Apparently, the angel was to send up a report directly to God’s spokesman every other month about his current activities, and that was it. No assignments, no direct commands other than to “continue to spread Divine Love” whenever he could. 

So far, Aziraphale had kept his angelic work centered around his bookshop. Instead of simply trying to avoid customers, people who needed help were mysterious drawn to the front door of A.Z. Fell & Co. Anything from a few kind words and a blessing to phone calls and suddenly acquired funds to enable people to escape their current life circumstances were a daily occurrence.

Crowley smiled as he finished what was in his glass. The difference he had seen in Aziraphale with this change had been a welcome one. The angel seemed less anxious and smiled easier than he had in a long time. Aziraphale was finally given a chance to be a being a love without micromanagement, and Crowley had relished the happiness that radiated around the bookshop.

As a result, watching his angel currently stare with a pensive look at his food felt all the more disruptive.

Aziraphale sighed again. “I got a notice from the Metatron yesterday. A decree that She is implementing immediately for Her angels. It’s an initiative for the angels who visit Earth to become less remote from the humans. So we can better empathize with them and understand their needs.”

The demon’s sunglasses slid down his nose, a smirk appearing on his face. “Wait…are you telling me that the Almighty is forcing Gabriel and his lot to participate in…well, let’s just call it what it is…Sensitivity Training?”

A giggle leapt out of Aziraphale’s mouth, and he put his hand over his lips to stifle any more from coming out. “Well, when you put it that way…I suppose it is rather amusing.”

Crowley cackled and was pleased when Aziraphale removed his hand and joined in. The angel had a laugh that was brighter than the peal of bells chiming in a tower.

His pleasure increased as he watched Aziraphale finally serve himself one of the little cakes on the table, scooping up a generous forkful. The sigh of bliss the angel made as he ate it made something warm turn in Crowley’s stomach.

“So who is going to have the misfortune of being on the receiving end of Gabriel’s attempts at human kindness?” Crowley asked, unable to resist the question.

The angel popped another bite of his cake into his mouth, savoring it for a few seconds before swallowing and answering. “Apparently, he will be going to the States to help a fledgling charity organization establish itself.”

“A charity organization? Doesn’t seem like a very nice thing to do them, does it?”

“Don’t be too sure,” Aziraphale tutted, punctuating his words with gestures with his fork. “I was curious, so I looked into this organization. According to the website, they are seeking to ‘spread spiritual awareness through every avenue of the physical plane by educating the mind and refocusing the ritual of eating with post-gratification ideals’.”

“Uh-huh. And what does all that mean?”

“I’m not sure. And the impression I got was that the founders of this organization are struggling to understand it themselves. Evidently, it has something to do with using a lot of candles and eating quinoa.”

Crowley chortled again, slouching in his chair and letting his limbs splay about. “This just keeps getting better and better. I almost want to pop in at some point and see how it’s going.”

“It is tempting, I will grant you. Then again, tempting is what _you_ do.”

Crowley snorted and finished what was in his glass. “Right, but what about you, angel? Don’t tell me you’ll have to find your own wacky charity group to infiltrate.”

The angel’s face fell, the sighs returning. “Well, it doesn’t have to be that, but I have to find something. I tried to say that the acts of service I do in the bookshop should be sufficient, but apparently, it was thought that I’ve let myself become too complacent by sticking with my current base of operations.”

“Complacent? I’d like to see any other angels try to deal with customers on a regular basis. If you ask me, people who work in retail shops have to get a little too involved with other people.”

“I don’t disagree with you, but…I can’t really ignore this, Crowley. I know She is giving me as much latitude as could possibly be expected for any of Her servants. I don’t want to let Her down.”

“You don’t,” Crowley blurted out. “You’re enough, angel. You always were.”

Aziraphale beamed at him, and, at that particular moment, Crowley was grateful for the sunglasses. Did the angel have any idea what his smiles did to him?

Maybe he didn’t. Ever since Armageddon had been averted and they had been freed of just about all of their obligations to Heaven and Hell, Crowley had thought that the angel would be ready for…something more.

Sure, the night before they switched faces, Aziraphale finally confessed to feeling “quite fond” of him, and now, he made no effort to deny knowing him and referred to their time spent together for what it was: a conscious decision to enjoy each other’s company.

But beyond that…Crowley couldn’t say what he was to Aziraphale. Something like a friend? Perhaps something more? The angel was giving nothing away. And while Crowley tried to convince himself that this was more than enough, he couldn’t let go of the pressing fact that he longed for a release for the adoration he had for Aziraphale. An adoration that stretched back thousands of years.

Crowley waved his hand for some more wine. Alcohol. That was what he needed right now. In the meantime, he might as well sate his curiosity.

“So what are you going to go with? Clubs? That would be a good way to get more involved with humans. I know a few here in Soho that are always looking for additional members. There’s book clubs, and wine tasting clubs, and gourmet clubs, and….” 

Suddenly, Aziraphale’s brightened. “I know…a dating service.”

The wine had arrived a few seconds ago, and Crowley was thankful that he had hesitated to start drinking the glass that had been poured for him. Because he was completely certain that he would have spit all of it out.

“You what?!”

Unperturbed, Aziraphale’s smile did not falter in the least. “Yes, I believe there are still such agencies here in London. What better way to get to know more about what people need out of life? All of them searching for something….”

“If all you’re looking for are humans who are searching for stuff, why don’t you set up a detective agency instead?” Crowley suggested. “I hear they are hired to find all kinds of….”

“No no, not that sort of looking,” Aziraphale interrupted with a wave of his hand. “These people are looking for love and acceptance and understanding. These are also things the Almighty can provide.”

“Right. And just as many of them, if not more, are looking for someone to hook up with, and the Almighty definitely would….” Crowley shuddered. “Nope, I’m not going there.”

“Crowley, if I’m going to continue as God’s agent here on Earth, I should at least try to gain some additional insight into the human heart and soul.”

Crowley shook his head. It all sounded perfectly ludicrous to him and he struggled with the temptation to inform Aziraphale of this with a perfectly crafted sarcastic reply.

Of course, that was when Aziraphale decided to turn toward him with one of those ridiculous, sunny, glorious smiles plastered all over his face.

“I’m not entirely sure how to go about this. I could use your assistance. Would you…?”

“Would I what, angel?”

The smile became a little less cloying, a lot more fond, and one hundred percent more endearing.

“Please, Crowley.”

Just two little words, one of them his own name, but that was all it took to shatter what remained of his resistance.

Well…the angel did say “please”. That had to count for something.

* * *

After an exhaustive search…which meant to Crowley an entire two hours spent searching online using Aziraphale’s outdated computer…Crowley found a couple of websites for dating agencies near Soho. He showed his results to Aziraphale who only took about five seconds to pick one of them.

“_Celestial Harmony_. That sounds promising. And look, it says here that they will find me “a match made in Heaven”.”

“Right…and they’ll do it for a “reasonable monthly fee,” no less,” Crowley nodded. He took a deep breath, bit his tongue, and then continued.

“Ok, it says here that you enter your information into this online form and they’ll create a profile page on their website for people to check out and see if they want a date with you.”

“Profile page?”

“That’s where you tell them about yourself, angel. Not that you’re an ethereal being posing as a human while stationed on Earth. I mean the important stuff like what you do for a living, the music you listen to, and how far you’ll go on a first date.”

“Well…I imagine we’d stay in London for a first date. Er…oh…how far…you, you mean…um….”

“Yeah, we’ll just skip all that,” Crowley said, making sure to not spend too long staring at the adorable blush that had appeared on the angel’s face. A few more taps on the keyboard brought up a screen with numerous blank spaces.

“Looks like this is where you fill in everything,” Crowley said. “You can work on that on your own. And when I get back, I can look over it before you send it.”

“Where are you going?”

Crowley got up and sauntered toward the door. “Oh, just on some errands. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I can bring you back something. Some of those French pastries you love so much?”

“You know, Crowley, I could finish this on my own. I happen to know a thing or two about the internet. Just last week, I got an email informing me about a website called Grindr. Apparently it has become quite popular.”

“…ok, when you’re done, you just leave everything on the screen until I get back, got it? Oh and you might want to keep an eye on those two customers who came in a minute ago. I saw one of them staring at your Oscar Wilde first editions.”

Aziraphale’s brow crinkled, a frown forming on his lips. “I hope they aren’t collectors. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to keep collectors out of the shop.”

Crowley snickered. “See you later, angel.”

* * *

As it turned out “later” became four hours instead of two.

This was mainly because the bakery where he had planned to get some pastries for Aziraphale had burned down. Initially, Crowley had been furious and was trying to figure out which side to blame for this setback.

Then he remembered that he had run into the assistant baker just last week at an outdoor café. The man was clearly frustrated with his job, so Crowley didn’t see any harm in planting a seed of discontent so the man would finally have the determination to quit his job and seek something better.

Unfortunately, “determination” turned into a mad rage that culminated into setting fire to his boss’ signature _clafoutis_ just when his boss had forgotten to replace the defective fire extinguisher he had gotten rid of last week.

Before the Nonpocalypse, the resulting angry employees and irritable customers creating waves of negative energy would have been enough to get Crowley another commendation. Now that he wasn’t an active member of Hell’s duty roster, it was just annoying. Especially as that meant not being able to fulfill a promise he had made to Aziraphale.

After several moments spent cursing, Crowley began searching his brain for a Plan B. It was actually his second thought that he could just go to France to get what he needed. And another moment of deliberation was enough to convince him that this was the way to go.

It wasn’t often that Crowley pushed the Bentley to break the laws of physics, but the demon knew that it would understand why it was necessary in this case. The drive to Paris was a short, but eventful one, and thankfully didn’t attract any attention from the humans. Even when he did the most dramatic hydroplaning that would ever be performed in a Bentley.

After arriving, he found a bakery that Aziraphale had raved about back in 1951 and had made a special order. A miracle involving the unusually efficient use of kitchen equipment and ingredients had also been required, but Crowley figured he had gone too far to turn back.

Eventually, he found himself speeding back toward Aziraphale’s bookshop, a white box filled with treats was his reward for his hard work. Throughout all of this, Crowley hadn’t thought about whether or not this box of pastries was really worth the work he’d put into it. That is, not until he was walking toward the front door.

The look on Aziraphale’s face as soon as he spied the logo on the box erased those concerns instantly.

“Why Crowley, are those what I think they are?”

The demon grinned and handed them over to Aziraphale. The grin stayed firmly in place as he watched the angel open the box up and find a selection of _petit fours_ inside. And tiny package of something else in one corner.

“Crowley…_bugnes_? Really, my dear?”

“You know me,” Crowley shrugged. “Always up for a joke. Come on, I know you’ve wanted more of those little red cakes for at least two decades.”

Aziraphale beamed at him as he sat the box down onto the settee and then selected one of the petit fours. The sound he made while eating it reminded Crowley of that time he managed an adult novelty store as part of a mass temptation scheme. _That_ was something he’d never try again.

Besides, the sounds Aziraphale was making were even better than all that anyway.

The angel offered him a _bugnes_, and Crowley nibbled on it while he watched Aziraphale consume the rest of the contents of the box. For Crowley, eating was pleasurable enough, but he didn’t see a need to linger over it, no matter how pleasing to the tongue it was.

Aziraphale, however, treated the act of eating as an experience to be savored. It was one of the few hedonistic pleasures he allowed himself. Thus, he let out a sigh of content with each _petit four_ and _bugnes_ consumed.

Crowley had also discovered a long time ago that watching Aziraphale enjoy his food was even more pleasurable than eating meals himself. Each time, he wondered if the angel was aware of the low levels of joy that he radiated during meals or of the slight uptick in the glow of his angelic presence.

Aziraphale took his time to eat the last of the _bugnes_ before finally approaching the topic at hand.

“I finished my profile. And I’m curious to see what you think of it.”

Crowley stuffed the tip of his _bugnes_ into his mouth, brushing crumbs off his shirt. “All right, let’s see what you’ve got.”

The two of them moved chairs to sit in front of Aziraphale’s computer. The computer had been left idling, and Aziraphale tapped a key to bring it out of sleep mode.

“You added a title,” Crowley said, nodding. “In Latin.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, beaming. “_Veni, Vidi, Vici…Tuum Cor_. I thought it was rather clever.”

“Angel…you actually _are_ trying to get a date, correct? This isn’t like the bookshop where you’re doing everything possible to stop someone from buying your favorite translations of _The Divine Comedy_, yes?”

“Of course I am, but…well, I thought that humor was supposed to be a good way to, as they say, break the ice.”

“Trust me, conversation starters will be the least of your problems when you’ve got something like that greeting your potential dates.” Crowley tapped the delete key several times, ignoring the gasp of indignation from the angel sitting beside him.

“Listen, tempting people has been my job for thousands of years,” he added. “And I like to think I’ve gotten pretty good at it. So have some faith in my expertise, all right? I mean, aren’t angels supposed to be all about faith?”

Aziraphale pouted for a second more before finally giving a nod of resignation. “Yes, of course, I suppose you’re right.”

“Mmm,” Crowley said, scrolling through the rest of the page. “You didn’t put down whether you were looking for a man or a woman.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “Well, I wasn’t sure about how to answer that. Does it really matter?”

Crowley shrugged. “I’ve never found it all that important. I’ll put ‘no preferences’. Right, and let’s change ‘bookshop owner’ to ‘entrepreneur’. Sounds more professional, ambitious.”

“But I’m not actually trying to sell…much of anything, really.”

“Yeah, but they don’t need to know that. And besides, ‘owner of a bookshop with zero sales’ doesn’t look good either.”

“True. Perhaps I should have said that I was a book collector. It is more accurate.”

“You’ve already got that in your list of hobbies,” Crowley replied. “Along with gourmet food and…dancing? Oh no, not that, angel.”

“Why not? I’ll have you know that there were many people who quite impressed with my mastery of the gavotte. And they do say that trends come and go in cycles, don’t they?”

“Not this trend. Not ever,” Crowley said as he deleted that from the list of hobbies. “At least you didn’t mention your magic act.”

“Crowley, I’m getting the impression that you think I should become someone different in order to catch someone’s eye.”

The demon immediately stopped and swiveled around in his chair. Aziraphale mainly looked annoyed, but Crowley felt his heart ache.

“Angel, no, I’m not….” He took a breath, struggling to stamp down the feelings the angel’s words had stirred within him. At that moment, he was glad that he had kept his sunglasses on.

“Look, you know that humans can be shallow. I’m sure you see it all the time here in the shop. I mean, be honest, if you had two editions of the same book and one of them had a fancier cover, which one would get more people looking at it?”

Aziraphale frowned, his brow furrowing. “Yes…yes I see. You do have a point. And you have given me an idea to keep people away from my copies of Blake.”

Crowley brushed that last comment aside with a wave of his hand. “All I’m trying to do is give you a cover that will catch people’s eyes. Then they can find out about the high quality content inside for themselves.”

Aziraphale blinked and then beamed at him again. Crowley enjoyed it for a full second before he became conscious of how mushy his own words had been.

“Ngk,” he said as he twirled back to the computer. “Right, er, I think the rest of it is fine. I can go ahead and send it.”

“Yes, please,” Aziraphale nodded. “And thank you, Crowley for your assistance.” The angel leaned back in his chair, found a crumb from a _petit_ _four_ on his shirt, and popped it into his mouth. “I do hope this works. And to be honest, I am rather curious.”

Crowley swiveled in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Curious?”

“About who will contact me,” Aziraphale said. His gaze turned toward the Cupid statue perched on a stand near the entrance. “I mean, it’s not unusual at all for humans to be drawn to an angel. I’ve experienced it countless times while on Earth. But…not like this. Not this sort of attention.”

Aziraphale paused and then turned his eyes back toward Crowley, this hint of a smile on his lips.

“I wonder what sort of person would be interested in me in that sense.”

Crowley bit the corner of his bottom lip. He had an answer to that question, but he didn’t dare speak it aloud.

Unfortunately, this was also the moment that Crowley realized that Aziraphale was going to discover an answer to that question on his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bugnes are also called "angel wings" in English and I, like Crowley, like to throw in a random dumb joke.
> 
> Also, if I got my Latin right, that should have roughly translated to "I came, I saw, I conquered....your heart". Because again, I love dumb jokes....


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update. I was struggling with some changes I wanted to make to the plot and themes. But I think I have it sorted now. Hopefully, I will be able to post more often from here.

“Crowley, do you think there is something wrong with my dating profile? Maybe I should edit it in some way.”

Crowley flung the crust in his hand and was dismayed when it was caught in midair by a far too pleased looking drake. It had been a while since the two of them had fed the ducks at St. James’ Park, and Crowley was starting to think that the ducks were sulking over their previous absence.

“Why? I thought it looked fine.”

“Yes but…well, it’s been two weeks and I still have not had any response.”

“Doesn’t happen overnight. That’s why they give you the first month for free. So people won’t give up when they don’t get results right away. That way, you get comfortable with it and don’t think to cancel.”

Aziraphale frowned, fishing out a handful of crumbs from the paper bag in his hands. “Are you sure that your lot had nothing to do with these dating services?”

“Like my lot would get involved with anything that could possibly promote love and deeper connections between humans. But the free trial thing was all mine, yeah.” Crowley grinned. “You should have seen Hastur’s face when he realized that Beelzebub was giving me the go-ahead to give humans free stuff. I don’t think he ever learned to wrap his brain around it.”

“Yes, well, demonic wit aside, I certainly hope that I won’t have to pour endless resources into a project without any chance of it bearing fruit.”

Aziraphale let out a long sigh. He looked like he was about to toss some more crumbs, but then his hands stilled.

“Perhaps if I had made my profile more interesting. Maybe I should have included a few more hobbies, like….”

“Angel, there is nothing romantic about your magic act. Or the gavotte.” Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond, but Crowley held up an index finger to stop him. “Come on, that’s what you were thinking about. Admit it.”

Aziraphale certainly did his best to look offended, but it ended up looking far more like pouting.

“So what if I was? Magicians have entertained humans for centuries with their mastery of the art of deception and sleight of hand.”

“And that right there is why I was right to have you keep that off your profile,” Crowley retorted. “’Mastery’ is probably the next to last word I’d use to describe your magic act.”

The angel glared at him. “’Next to last’? And pray tell, what is the last word you’d use?”

“Entertaining.”

“Crowley, now you’re just being spiteful.”

“No, I’m being honest. I figured you’d think that was a real feather for your wing, getting a demon to be truthful.”

“Hardly. Even a demon has to be honest once in a while or everyone would know that they could never be trusted.”

Crowley laughed and threw his last handful of crumbs out onto the pond. Much to his delight, two of the greedier ducks ran into each other in a mad dash to gobble them up. It reminded him of that carnival game where humans paid money to look at the bellies of rubber ducks to see if they won a prize.

It was another proud moment in his ongoing quest to craft minor inconveniences for the world. Carnivals often were a goldmine of inspiration for that sort of thing.

He crumpled up his bag and was about to throw it onto the ground when he decided that he’d be better off not pressing his luck. Instead, he tossed into a nearby waste bin.

“Still, I am worried,” Aziraphale continued in a much quieter voice. “That I’m, well, that I’m not all that interesting. A silly thing to be concerned about, I know. Angels are supposed to be servants, not showy personalities.”

The angel chuckled, and Crowley was struck by how it had sounded like one of the saddest sounds he had heard in a while.

“Even in Heaven, I’m afraid I was quite dull. I suppose it came with the territory. Guardians have a rather limited field of responsibility, so it’s not surprising that I was hardly what one could call intriguing.”

“But you weren’t meant to just be a guardian, remember?” Crowley said, tilting his head. “She might be ineffable, but I’m pretty sure that you weren’t sent down here just because you were better than average at swinging a flaming sword.”

“Well no, there were other things I was meant to do…like thwarting you…er….”

“Look, the point is, you’re plenty interesting, even without the rubbish magic act. You’re an angel.”

“Yes, but the humans aren’t to know that.”

“And they don’t have to,” Crowley replied. “You’ve still got thousands of years of memories and experiences stored up in that clever brain of yours. You’ve seen the rise and fall of civilizations. You don’t go through all that and become a complete dullard. Well…maybe you do if you’re Sandalphon, but that’s because all he cares about is racking up Smiting Points. You, on the other hand, are actually interested in the stuff going on around you and want to learn more. You care about it all. That right there means that you’ll never be boring.”

It was slow in coming, but the smile that finally appeared on Aziraphale’s face as still enough to chase away the clouds in the sky.

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. I suppose I can’t expect results immediately. I just hope I haven’t made a mistake in my choice of projects.”

“You could always look for your own pet charity to sponsor in the meantime,” Crowley offered. “I hear Gabriel has become quite good at photo ops.”

“Not willingly from what I understand,” Aziraphale said, smirking. “Are you still going to tell me that you had nothing to do with that?”

“I may have suggested to a couple of the people in charge that their organization needed a face to represent them,” Crowley said, smirking back at him. “But I never said _who_ they should pick for their face. That was totally the humans’ doing.”

Of course, Crowley might have mentioned that he had conjured up some glossy photos of Gabriel posing at other fictional social events and left them around the charity’s main offices. But then again, what was life without a little mischief and mystery?

“No, I can do charity work from my bookshop,” Aziraphale said. “I need to find a way to add a more personal touch to my interactions with humans and answer some questions I have about….”

The angel paused, frowning. Crowley immediately picked up on this and was intrigued.

“About what?”

Aziraphale blinked hard. “Nothing. Just…questions I have about human things.”

“Human things?”

“Yes. Matters related to, er, humans.”

Crowley nodded, but decided to not pursue this. Truthfully, he had been relieved that no one had sent Aziraphale a message. Then again, he also didn’t want Aziraphale to think that he was just as much of an unwanted outcast on Earth as he was in Heaven.

Suddenly, Aziraphale shook himself and gave Crowley a wan smile.

“Let’s do something else. A spot of lunch would be lovely right now.”

“Sure,” Crowley said, nodding. “And I heard there’s going to be a performance of _Much_ _Ado About Nothing_ at the theater tonight, if you’re interested.”

Aziraphale brightened up even more. “That sounds wonderful, my dear.”

* * *

Two days later, Crowley got a phone call that made him both elated and disappointed.

“I got a message last night and a call this morning,” Aziraphale had told him. “Her name is Cassandra, and she’s recently returned to university studies to complete a graduate degree in English. She seems quite fascinating. And we’re supposed to meet for coffee at that place just down the street from my bookshop. You know, ‘Jon Coffee next to that Honey Sweets place.”

“Sounds perfect for you, angel,” Crowley replied, trying his best to sound pleased.

“Yes, I…oh dear, I do want to make the right impression. Perhaps I should consider a new look for our date. Maybe, maybe my hair should be shorter or….”

“Stop,” Crowley cut in. “Leave it to me. I’ve got this covered too.”

* * *

Two hours later, Crowley stretched his legs out over the arm of the couch he was sitting on that was near the fitting rooms.

They had already stopped to get Aziraphale a haircut and a manicure. Now, they were following through with Crowley’s suggestion that they get the angel a new outfit for his date.

_“It’s a coffee shop date, angel. You need something casual.”_

_“Casual? But this isn’t formal. I wear it all the time.”_

_“That doesn’t make it casual. You’re not meeting this human for a business transaction. You need to be relaxed.”_

_“I am relaxed.”_

_“Ok, but you also need to look relaxed. Just…I’ll show you what I mean.”_

That led to where they were now, browsing the wares of an upscale men’s clothing store. He had briefly considered taking Aziraphale somewhere more trendy, but figured that that might be too much of a change for the angel to adjust to. Baby steps then.

The place he did choose was much more traditional in style, but not so much that Crowley worried that he’d end up with Aziraphale choosing something from the Edwardian era.

Not that that was making it any easier to find something suitable. Aziraphale had _standards_, a point he had made crystal clear many times over the centuries. And while, in theory, angels were supposed to be immune to the lure of vanity, Aziraphale’s choices for attire tended to lean toward fancier tastes. This meant clothes with frills and lace, soft pastel colors, and elaborate details. One night, after they had had quite a few drinks, Aziraphale had bemoaned the fact that stockings and shoes with heels were no longer considered fashionable for men to wear.

At the time, Crowley had suggested that he just switch genders so he could go back to dressing that way, but Aziraphale had been ambivalent about the idea. In fact, Crowley could hardly remember the last time he had seen Aziraphale switch to a feminine appearance. Although, Crowley attributed that more to Aziraphale being far too comfortable in his current shape than an aversion to the idea.

Still, Crowley imagined that he would be facing this same problem even if Aziraphale decided to present as feminine. So when Aziraphale rejected the first twenty outfits he had suggested, Crowley resisted the urge to make that suggestion again.

Instead, he eventually gave Aziraphale a broad outline of what would be acceptable and then just left the angel to pick out his own clothes. It had meant enduring a tedious half hour lounging on this lumpy couch, but Crowley still felt that it was better than the alternative.

“Well…how does this look?”

Crowley sat up and turned his head to see Aziraphale walking toward him. The angel had chosen a dark blue sweater with threads of dark grey running through it and a light blue shirt underneath. He combined it with a pair of dark grey slacks and black shoes. Aziraphale finished the look with an impeccably tied bowtie with a grey and blue tartan pattern.

Crowley got up and sauntered over to him, his head tilted while he looked Aziraphale over.

“You look good, angel.”

Aziraphale’s face broke into a smile. “Oh, good.” His hands fluttered up to his neck. “You don’t think I should get rid of the bowtie? You did say ‘casual’ after all, so maybe I should….”

“No, leave it.” Crowley reached over and teased out the edges of the tie. “It suits you.”

Aziraphale beamed at him even more, causing Crowley to push his shades up to shield his eyes from the sudden spike in the angelic glow surrounding them.

Still….

“Aziraphale…you know that I…that I wasn’t trying to say that you’re not….”

_‘Attractive enough. Nice enough. Interesting enough. Good enough.’_ All of it was on the tip of Crowley’s tongue where it stuck. To him, Aziraphale was not simply “enough” of anything. He was more. So much more.

Every once in a while, Crowley remembered that humans could never see Aziraphale as he actually was, that most of them were blind to the soft radiance that surrounded the angel at all times. And that was while he was in his human shaped form. He’d never seen Aziraphale’s true angelic form, but Crowley was certain that it was terrible and wondrous and beyond anything humans could understand as beauty.

Thus, how could any human truly appreciate Aziraphale even when he passed himself off as one of them? More importantly, how could he explain to the angel that worrying about how humans saw him was a waste of time without laying his own heart bare?

“Crowley, I know,” Aziraphale said, placing his hands over Crowley’s. “And I want you to know how very grateful I am for all of your assistance in this project of mine.”

Despite his best efforts, Crowley couldn’t stop the redness that bloomed onto his cheeks. And if it seemed like Aziraphale was holding onto his hands a little longer than necessary…well Crowley wasn’t going to comment on that. Nor was he going to let go first.

Sadly, the moment passed seconds later, and Aziraphale cleared his throat as he lowered his hands to his sides.

“Yes well, there were one or two things I wanted to check on at the bookshop. And I need to drop off my other clothes. Could I trouble you for a lift?”

* * *

That evening, Aziraphale was sitting at a dingy round table next to large window at the front of the coffee shop. A mug of coffee was sitting on a saucer in front of him, and a single white rose was lying off to the side. He took another sip of his coffee and noted that it seemed to become richer and sweeter with every taste. It was a good distraction from the nerves that were creeping up on him.

Aziraphale set his cup down and frowned. There was no sensible reason to be nervous, and yet there didn’t seem to be a better word to describe the churning in his stomach. Or the fact that he kept mulling over what he should do or say tonight. It was just a date with a human. He had done this before.

Granted, the last time he had done it was about 120 years ago. Maybe he was simply out of practice.

Or…maybe it was because he had someone else on his mind right now….

“Mr. Ezra Fell?”

Aziraphale blinked and stood up to see a woman in her late thirties approaching him. She had light grey eyes, dark brown hair that cascaded down her shoulders in loose ringlets, and skin that was the color of wet sand. She wore a pine-green cardigan over a cream colored t-shirt and black slacks.

“Yes,” said, smiling at her. “And you must be Ms. Cassandra Bennett.” He picked up the rose and held it out to her.

“Why thank you,” Cassandra said, beaming. “A white rose. A very appropriate flower for a first meeting.”

Surprise lit up the angel’s eyes. “You know about the language of flowers?”

“Yes,” Cassandra laughed. “It’s a hobby of mine, Victorian manners and customs. I always thought that flower language was one of those things that should have stayed in style.” She ran her finger tips over the edges of the petals. “It’s lovely to see that there are other people who haven’t abandoned it.”

The two of them sat down, and Aziraphale motioned for a barista to take their orders.

* * *

Several minutes later, Aziraphale was relieved to find himself relaxed and enjoying the conversation with his date.

“So you were born in the United States?” he said, taking another sip of his coffee. Really, he should have come to this place before now. The coffee and biscotti were quite heavenly.

“Yes,” Cassandra answered. “My father is British, but my mother was from Georgia. My father was transferred to the States because his company wanted to expand. But as much as he enjoyed it there and was grateful to meet my mother, he dearly wanted to go home. Eventually, he was able to get a promotion that made it so he could return to Britain. The three of us moved here when I was fourteen.”

“Do you miss it?” Aziraphale asked, taking a bite of his biscotti. “Living in the States, I mean.”

Cassandra took a long sip of her coffee and then leaned back in her chair. “At first I did. I was so angry at Dad for taking me away from my home and all my friends. But over the years, I learned to understand why he did it. Because he missed England far more than I ever missed Georgia. After I finished secondary school, I thought about moving back, but it never seemed like the right time.”

She took another sip, and then leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and forming a steeple with her fingers.

“It took me a long time to figure out that there wasn’t ever going to be a right time. That this place had become my home after all.” She smiled and lowered her arms so she could wrap her fingers back around her cup. “Then I met George and that put an end to my questions for good.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “George?”

“My husband. Well…he is…was my husband. He still is in a way, I….”

Cassandra looked down at her coffee, and Aziraphale noted a tremor in her fingers. He reached over and placed and hand onto her wrist.

“How long has it been?”

“Two years,” she murmured. “Two years is long enough…should be long enough, shouldn’t it? And yet, sitting here, actually saying it out loud…it’s like hardly any time has passed at all.”

Cassandra raised her head and swiped at one of her eyes. When she looked down at her fingers afterward, she let out a short laugh.

“Smudged my eyes up. Isn’t that always the way? This never happens when I’m attending lectures or working by myself in the library. But I go out on my first date in years, and wouldn’t you know it?”

Aziraphale moved his hand to clasp hers. “It happened during your first date with George too, didn’t it?”

Cassandra blinked hard. “How, how did you know?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer. Instead, he continued to gaze at her with Knowing and yet kind eyes. She finally managed a wobbly smile.

“Mr. Fell….”

“Ezra is fine, if you prefer.”

“Ezra….” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Ezra. This isn’t much of a date. I, I thought I was ready for this. I wanted to be. When I’m working on the more tedious parts of my studies and think about how I’d love to do something fun, it’s so easy to think that I am ready.”

“It is easier to believe you’ll hit a target when you’re not actually looking at it.”

Cassandra’s mouth dropped open. “Yes, yes, that’s it exactly.” She curled her fingers around Aziraphale’s hand. “Ezra, I have a confession to make.”

Aziraphale nodded, encouraging her to continue while she stroked the back of his hand with her thumb.

“After I signed up with _Celestial Harmony_, I thought I had made a huge mistake. I kept looking at the profiles and thinking ‘what am I doing? I’m not like any of these people?’. But then I saw your profile and it was like a voice in my head said that I needed to meet you. That…that you’d understand.”

Cassandra laughed, a sad, frustrated sound. “I didn’t even know what it was that I thought you would understand, but I…I….”

Aziraphale placed his other hand on top of hers. “Maybe that’s not the point: knowing exactly what you needed understanding for. Maybe you just needed to know that someone could listen and understand you.”

Cassandra blinked several times, bemused, but not troubled. “You are an unusual man, Ezra Fell. Maybe, maybe if I had never met George…you and I would have….”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “It’s all right. Perhaps you could tell me about the thesis you are working on. I’m quite interested in English and literature studies, you see. I suppose that comes with the territory of owning a bookshop.”

“Oh, of course,” she let of his hands. “That’s why your name seemed so familiar. ‘A.Z. Fell & Co.’. That’s your place, isn’t it?”

The angel beamed. “Yes it is. It’s…it’s been the family for many years.”

“I’ve seen that place so many times, but for one reason or another I never stopped in. Well, actually, I think I know why. Money’s not exactly plentiful these days, and I’m sure if I went into your shop, I’d want to buy everything I could get my hands on.”

“Yes, that is a recurring problem,” Aziraphale said, sighing. Then he noted the confused look on her face and made sure to laugh. “I mean, money not being in plentiful supply. It seems to be a common problem these days.”

“Yes it is,” Cassandra said, nodding thoughtfully. “George, he…he was able to leave me some money, and I have a part time job at the university, but it’s just barely enough. I should have stayed at my old job, I know. It was a lot more financially secure, but…. George always knew that I had wanted to complete my masters. All the way to the end, he kept telling not to give up on that dream. After he was gone, I guess I just felt like I had to do it now or I never would.”

Cassandra took a big bite of her biscotti while Aziraphale finished what was left in his cup.

“My professors seem to think I’m good,” she continued. “They think I should write a book. And one of them is trying to help me get a fellowship. Which would really help me a lot. But, of course, there is no guarantee. There are a lot of talented people who compete for those fellowships and only so many to go around.”

“Don’t worry,” Aziraphale said in the same Knowing tone. “I’m sure you’ll get one. I have a good feeling about it.”

Cassandra smiled at him again. “You know, hearing you say it, I really believe it. You’re very easy to talk to. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“A few,” Aziraphale replied. “Though it has been quite a long while since I’ve heard it. I haven’t gone out, as it were, with someone in many years.”

“I can’t believe that. There must be someone. Someone whose eye you’ve caught besides mine.”

The angel smiled. “Well, if I had caught someone’s attention, I probably wouldn’t sign up for a dating service. No, I’m afraid my social calendar has been rather empty.” His smile grew. “Although, I would like to think that I might have made a new friend.”

Cassandra reached over and patted his hand. “I believe you have, Ezra.”

* * *

Over at the counter, Mandy smiled. She had seen the fair-haired man and the woman in the green sweater come in separately and was worried that it wasn’t going well at one point when the woman looked so sad. But now the two of them looked happy and were chatting animatedly.

It was a sweet scene and she was reluctant to interrupt it. But then she remembered that the man had asked for more biscotti once the next batch was finished.

She went into the corner that was just outside the kitchen where the new barista was making another cup of coffee. Mandy had no idea when this guy had been hired, but he did seem to make really good coffee and treats. Maybe that’s why he got the job despite the fact that he wore sunglasses nonstop.

“Hey Anthony, is that next batch of biscotti ready? I think that gentleman near the window is ready for more.”

Anthony raised his head. “Oh sure, um, here.” He reached behind him and pulled out a tray of fresh biscotti. Once again, Mandy wondering how he was able to make things seem to appear from thin air like that.

She placed most of them into the glass display cases in front of the counter, picked out a few for the customers in the café, and watched Anthony stare at the couple near the window. He’d been watching them on and off all night, though he did his best to hide it. Maybe he was a romantic softie underneath that silent, dark exterior.

“I just overhead them talking about books,” she said. “I don’t think this date worked out on the romantic end, but they’ll probably start a book club or something together. I mean, they look like they could be the best of friends already.”

Anthony craned his head around the wall to steal another glance at them. For a second, Mandy thought she saw his lips tremble a little, but then he turned back toward the kitchen, the scowl he had worn for most of the night back on his face.

“I’m going to, um…I’ll be back in a minute.”

Mandy nodded and turned back toward the dining area. They were closing in an hour anyway and there was no one else in the place. There’s wasn’t that much left to do, and if Anthony wanted to take a smoke break or whatever, he had plenty of time to do so.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t going to see him again. Not tonight. And not any other night either.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this took so long to update. Inktober for Writers and some RL issues ate up just about all my time. And I needed to fix a couple issues with my outline that I hope will make it a lot smoother from here on in.
> 
> ***Please note that I have edited the tags!*** 
> 
> Some of the changes I made to the rest of the fic have affected the content that will be included. So please check out the tags again in case there's anything there that might affect your decision to read further.   
And huge apologies upfront if the changes are disappointing. I've struggled with this one and needed to make adjustments to how the story unfolded.

_“Ezra, I don’t know if I can tell you how much our meeting meant to me with words, but I would like to try….”_

Aziraphale smiled as he continued to read the card in his hands. It had been two days since his date, if it could truly be called that, with Cassandra. Although they had parted on quite amiable terms, he hadn’t expected to hear from her again. Thus, he was surprised to find this card in his morning mail.

He read through her card twice before closing it and leaning back in his chair. Meeting Cassandra had been a lovely, unexpected pleasure; one that he hoped indicated the kind of people he would continue to find through this dating service.

Aziraphale sat the card down on his desk and stared at it. He had secretly blessed her before they left the coffee shop, hoping that her life would take a better turn soon. But now he realized that he wanted to do more for her.

His gaze drifted over to the box of business cards from some of his human friends and acquaintances. Many of them were academics from neighboring universities, including a couple of professors from the university that Cassandra attended.

_‘I’m sure she can make her own way in the world with her strength and talents. But…a couple of additional scholarships or maybe even a fellowship stipend would ease the burden of worrying about necessities.’_

Aziraphale’s smile grew. Neither of his professor friends was involved with the funding for students or made fellowship decisions, but they had plenty of contacts within the university. Perhaps a leisurely lunch with one of them was in order. Dr. Boyd had mentioned an interest in seeing Aziraphale’s collection of George Eliot first editions. Inviting him over to examine them would provide the perfect opportunity to mention a student with great promise who was struggling and who could use some assistance.

He leaned over and consulted the calendar at the back of his desk. Dr. Boyd liked to visit that one Thai restaurant on Thursdays. He would call him up this week to arrange a meeting.

_‘At least this way she could focus on her studies rather than fret over money. That is probably the best thing for her now while she recovers from her loss.’_

Aziraphale’s face fell. How did humans recover from such a loss? Granted, not all of them did. Sometimes, the loss consumed them. But many of them were eventually able to find the will to move on and find happiness elsewhere. It seemed incredible to Aziraphale that they were able to accomplish this in such a short span of time. Well, short to an immortal’s perspective on time at any rate.

Even more astonishing was the way that they were able to make their newfound happiness genuine and sustaining. It was such an act of courage.

Courage that Aziraphale wasn’t sure he could muster up for himself.

A cold tendril of fear curled around his heart, and Aziraphale felt his hands begin to shake. What if he lost Crowley? How could he survive such a loss?

How could he even want to?

By the time he realized the folly in dwelling on those thoughts, it was too late. The shaking in his hands had turned into full body shivering and he found it difficult to breathe.

_‘No please, not again. Please stop….’_

_‘Why? Why can’t I stop?’_

But no matter how much he begged and chastised himself, the dread creeping up his spine would not stop. Not until it morphed into panic. Panic that spread throughout his body and then settled into his chest. Dull pressure soon morphed into a crushing grip around his heart.

Aziraphale gasped, scrambling for air he didn’t need. A sharp spike of pain jolted through his chest, and he grabbed at it, wishing he could miracle it away, but knowing already that he would fail at doing so for some mysterious reason.

That was how it had been every other time.

Instead, he leaned forward, eventually slipping out of his chair and landing onto his side on the floor. His wings emerged, wrapping themselves around him in a protective reflex.

The only thing he could do now was wait. Wait and hope that he would come out of it again like he had before. Wait and pray to Her, pleading for answers to why this was happening. Was She angry at him? Was She getting ready to make him Fall?

Or was She preparing him for the moment when She would destroy him completely?

Aziraphale felt beads of sweat trickle down off his temple onto the floor. He curled up into a ball, his wings pressing closer as he tried to shut out the world around him.

He had spent thousands of years being so careful, taking every possible precaution, suppressing as much of his emotion as he dared all to prevent Heaven and Hell from finding out about the Arrangement and the relationship with Crowley that was forming behind it.

Now that the impending Apocalypse had passed without coming to fruition, and they were freed from the regular monitoring of their respective superiors, he should have been happy. He should have felt liberated now that he was released from their intense scrutiny and constant threats of retribution.

And yet, as the weeks went by, Aziraphale realized that fear still had a deep root in his mind and heart. It had modified its shape from when he was tightly controlled by Heaven, but it was still there. It was the anxious feeling that woke him up at night when he tried following Crowley’s suggestion to give sleeping a try. It was the nagging thought that he still needed to mind his every word and gesture and never reveal too much. Even to Crowley. Especially to Crowley. It was the emptiness that festered in his heart when he tried to read a book from his collection or partake of a fine meal on his own and found little pleasure in it.

Worst of all though, were moments like this, when the fear took hold completely.

The first time it happened, Aziraphale was certain that he would be discorporated. His heart had beaten frantically, and his breaths became these horrible, desperate gasps. He had collapsed that time too, thankfully after he had closed the shop for the night and in an area that had no stacks of books nearby that he could topple. When the shaking started, Aziraphale was terrified to discover that he no longer felt truly connected to his corporeal form. He closed his eyes while he waited for his celestial being to separate from his physical body.

He was startled a few minutes later to discover that he was still on Earth, still inhabiting his human form, and was only drained, physically and emotionally. His wings had come out although he had no memory of it happening. Aziraphale spent several minutes examining every inch of them that he could to see if they had started to turn black, a sign that his Fall was imminent. At the time, he hoped it had simply been a warning about what could happen if he strayed too far away from Her Grace.

But then it happened again. And then again and again. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to when it happened, although he was grateful that it had always happened when he was alone. If he was to be destroyed, he didn’t want to involve Crowley in it. Crowley had already done so much for him and had put himself in so much danger to save Earth from Armageddon. Whatever his fate was to be, Aziraphale was determined to face it on his own.

Aziraphale heard his breaths coming out in a labored wheeze, an improvement from barely coming out at all. Whatever this was, it was passing again and would be over soon.

Still, despite his resolve to keep this from Crowley, a part of him wished Crowley was here. It was paradoxical that he felt safest when a demon was at his side, but that didn’t make it any less of an undeniable truth.

Unfortunately, thinking about how much he needed and wanted Crowley did nothing to improve his mood.

Aziraphale bent one of his wings closer, letting his fingers pick at his feathers. So many times over the years, he had commented on Crowley’s status as a demon, using it to remind Crowley that it was impossible for him to have the capacity for love that angels did. Watching Crowley do anything and everything he could to save Earth and humanity had been the biggest challenge to that line of thinking yet. The indifference Heaven had shown throughout the Apocalypse crisis made it impossible for Aziraphale to ignore the doubts that had formed centuries ago.

Once they…well, Adam…had successfully stopped Armageddon, and he had taken the time to process it, Aziraphale realized just how much he had needed to believe that Crowley was only capable of concern due to the Arrangement. That they watched each other’s backs solely because of the Arrangement. That Crowley’s desire to keep the Earth intact was based on a want for the comfort and convenience of the Arrangement.

But love? Love that was unselfish and tender and steadfast? How could Aziraphale believe that any demon was capable of it? Even after centuries of Crowley chipping away at beliefs Heaven had planted in Aziraphale’s brain, the angel had refused to fully accept it.

And it wasn’t until recently that he understood why: because if he had accepted the fact that Crowley, a demon and servant of Hell, was capable of that sort of love, he would be forced to face the unsettling question of his own capacity for love as an angel.

The feathers in Aziraphale’s wings prickled, but he continued to pick at them. He had always felt…off compared to the rest of the Heavenly Host. Even as a cherub guarding the Throne of God, he never had the rigid focus of complete submission. He wanted to learn, to love freely, and not be a soldier. He had seen Her new creations on Earth and was fascinated by them. He was fairly certain that was why She appeared pleased when he volunteered to guard Eden.

Then there was the disaster of the First Temptation and Adam and Eve’s exile. For a long moment, Aziraphale had been furious at the serpent he had seen lurking around the Garden. How dare it corrupt Her creation so soon after it was finished? The urge to hunt the demon down and punish it had lit his sword ablaze.

But it was when he caught sight of those flames that Aziraphale realized the truth: that he had also failed God. That if he had been the guardian he was supposed to be, he would have found a way to stop this from happening. And the proof of that defect within him was the twist in his heart while he stared at his flaming sword. A sword which had represented both his duty and his burden.

That realization made it easy to give the sword away to Adam and Eve. Someone needed to offer them the means to protect themselves now that they were banished to the wilds of the rest of the world, and perhaps they stood a better chance with this holy weapon. As for the serpent…if God had chosen to not destroy it, then he had no right to either.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, closing his eyes as relief washed over him. The panic had faded, but he still felt hollow. Much like how he had when he finally left the Garden after being changed from a cherub to a principality and ordered to remain on Earth.

Then he caught sight of his wings. Once again, the absent-minded picking had gone too far and there were drops of red and gold blood on his fingertips and loose feathers on the floor. There would be another bald patch in his wings. Wings that were already covered with them.

Ugly, tattered wings. Lying weak and helplessly on the ground. Halo probably faded.

Not even remotely angelic.

Tears wobbled in Aziraphale’s eyes. He had tried. He had tried so hard to submit to Her will and accept his new status as a principality and a representative of Heaven on Earth. But his failure in Eden followed him every time he visited Heaven, a failure that was imprinted on his being when his transformation into a principality did not erase all of his cherub traits. If he had been a misfit within the Host before, he was a complete outsider now, as evidenced by the way the majority of the other angels treated him.

Throughout all of this, Aziraphale had clung to the idea that he could serve Her Ineffable Plan. Partially because he couldn’t bear to consider the possibility that he had become a profoundly flawed angel at his core: mutated beyond recognition and only able to love at a superficial level.

Gaining his freedom from Heaven had done nothing to dissuade these thoughts. In fact, it was worse to not have the distraction of Heaven’s assignments to keep him too busy to dwell on them. Especially the thoughts about how casually cruel he had been to Crowley.

_“Friends, we’re not friends…I don’t even like you….”_

Aziraphale covered his face with his hands. Would a good angel, a true servant of God be so callous to someone who had treated them kindly? Of course not. But a twisted, shallow angel would. After that confrontation at the bandstand, Aziraphale found he was no longer able to deny the void in his heart. A void that should have been filled with love.

Perhaps this is what Gabriel and the rest of the archangels had seen all along and had tried to correct: that he was stunted in his ability to love.

After the Notpocalypse, Aziraphale had sought new ways to fill that void. He drew people who he could sense needed help to his bookshop so he could minister to them. There were many lost, desperate humans in London, and Aziraphale soon realized that he probably would never run out of people who were in need of an angel’s assistance. He even gave away a few of his books to humans who needed them. Not very many, mind, but more than he would have a few months ago.

Aziraphale wiped his face and went back to tugging at his feathers. His service toward the humans had helped. It eased the emptiness in his soul down to a muffled ache most of the time. But he was also certain that six thousand years of failure and fear would not be fixed solely by what he was doing within the confines of his bookshop.

That was the reason why he had chosen a dating service for his new project. Loving humans in a general sense came naturally to him, albeit not without some awkwardness. So it didn’t seem like such a large step to give dating a try. This gave him the chance to spread his angelic influence further and to learn more about how people loved each other in that wonderful, ordinary way that humans did.

And there had been a few times throughout history when he met a particularly intelligent, fascinating, moral person who engaged him beyond his instinct to protect and guide. Times when his vague affection became something more like friendship or even fondness. Time spent with these humans was brief by necessity, but it was also very sweet and had sustained him through decades of loneliness. Perhaps he could develop a relationship like this again.

Still…

Aziraphale’s fingers stilled. Loving specific humans could be a very pleasant thing, but it wasn’t the same, could never be the same, as what he felt for Crowley. The sweetest companionship he could find among the humans could not fill all of the hollow spaces in his heart and soul.

A heart that beat for Crowley. A soul that ached for Crowley.

The angel yanked at his feathers, pulling more of them out. He longed to tell Crowley about all of this. Each time he saw him, Aziraphale was hit with a need to beg for forgiveness and to find a way to ask Crowley to save him just he had so many other times across millennia.

But every time he started to build up the nerve, the memory of his poisonous words and the raw pain he heard in Crowley’s voice when he appeared to the demon after being discorporated came back to him. No, Crowley had suffered enough. Too much. And too many times at Aziraphale’s hands. It wasn’t fair or kind to ask him to take care of an angel who might be too warped to give him the love he deserved.

Aziraphale wiped his face again and sat up. He folded his wings away before he could do any more damage.

There was still plenty of work to do on Earth and that was how he would occupy the long stretch of eternity that lay ahead of him. Crowley was still here and they apparently still had some kind of Arrangement between them.

That was simply going to have to be enough.

* * *

“I know I warned all of you about leaf spots. So what is this that I’m seeing?”

Crowley glowered at the trembling plants all around him. Currently, he had his fingers curled around a pot of African violets he had bought a month ago. On the very edge of one velvety leaf was a touch of browning.

Crowley sighed and picked up the pot. He had had his doubts about this one when he had picked it out at the plant market where he got most of his collection from. However, he had succumbed to a moment of weakness and bought it anyway.

Probably had been thinking about Aziraphale at the time. He just knew that the angel would have found the little purple flowers beautiful and would think that it deserved a chance. Soft. That’s all that line of thinking was. Soft meant nothing when it came to survival in nature.

And the proof of that was right here in his hands.

Crowley’s frown deepened. Normally, he gave the plants that disappointed them one last venomous lecture before getting rid of them. He let the rest of them think that the offending plant was being annihilated in some sinister painful way out of sight.

The truth was, he had a pool of older ladies who ran a gardening club in Soho to give them to. He had gotten to know them over the years when one of them interceded before he could throw one of his early failures off a bridge. Since then, the club has made it their pet project to rehab the plants that Crowley considered unsuitable for his private garden.

Crowley’s fingertip continued to stroke the edge of the leaves. His first thought was to send this plant on its way. But Aziraphale had seen it and had singled it out for his admiration.

And, of course, the angel would notice if it was missing the next time he stopped by.

_‘Should have never let him see the plants. Soft. That’s where it gets you.’_

“All right everyone, listen up because you’re only getting one chance. Just one. I’m going to treat this plant, but that better be the last brown spot I see on any of you. Because if it isn’t…you know what will happen.”

Crowley watched the plant in his hands shake even more with the rest of the plants soon following suit. Pleased that his act of mercy had not weakened the fear he had carefully instilled, he sat the plant down and went back to watering the rest of them.

“Well, that date with that human went down like a lead balloon,” he muttered. “Other than giving him someone else to look after. Like he doesn’t have enough of them to think about already.”

Crowley pressed the handle of his plant mister, sweeping his arm out in a wide arc. “Stressed out students, people looking to escape shitty relationships, teenagers desperate to get some answers for their messed up lives: welcome to A. Z. Fell and Co. Where a literal angel will take care of you.”

He huffed and tossed his mister onto a stand and sauntered back to his desk. Despite his grumbling, he couldn’t work up the indignation to be upset with Aziraphale. Looking after and caring for humans had been his purpose for thousands of years. It was the sort of thing he was made for. He wasn’t going to abandon it just because he wasn’t getting regular orders from Heaven anymore.

And truth be told, a part of Crowley was more than a bit envious that doing such things came naturally to Aziraphale. Crowley doubted he would have the patience to be altruistic at the level an angel could maintain. Still, that didn’t stop him from wishing that he could go back to leaning on the requirements of the Arrangement to have excuses to do more positive things to balance out his innate desire to cause trouble.

No, what upset him wasn’t what the angel was doing. It was the demand on the Aziraphale’s time and attention that bothered him. Time and attention Crowley wanted for himself.

Selfish yes, but he was a demon. What else could anyone expect?

“Still, it’s been almost a week without any more messages for him,” Crowley added. “That’s got to be good, right? There’s dozens of profiles on that website. Hundreds even. His profile probably got lost in the shuffle. Maybe that student will be the only response he’ll get.”

Crowley frowned again. He had nothing against that woman. She seemed like a nice enough sort with the kind of intelligence Aziraphale was drawn to. And Aziraphale could always use another bibliophile in his life to gush over books with.

So why did he feel both sadness and resentment over her presence in Aziraphale’s life.

Something bitter rose up in Crowley’s throat. He had told the angel more than once that he didn’t read. It was an easy way to avoid the inevitable discussion about how it wasn’t easy for him to read due to his snake eyes and that he relied a lot on written material being read aloud so he could memorize it. Then it became a source of amusement to see Aziraphale roll his eyes and pout at the thought of someone not finding any pleasure in reading.

Most importantly, it was a distraction from the wish that he could take part in more of those long, involved discussions about Aziraphale’s favorite books. Not so much because the subject matter was so engrossing, but because of the unfettered joy Aziraphale had whenever he was given the chance to talk at length about something that interested him.

Crowley longed to be a part of that. To be a part of Aziraphale’s happiness.

He blew out a long sigh. He still didn’t know what Aziraphale was up to with this dating service thing, but he suspected that the angel wasn’t telling him everything. It was an immensely irritating habit of Aziraphale’s that he had had ever since Crowley had known him. Granted, it had largely been a habit of necessity due to Heaven’s harsh supervision.

But what was Aziraphale hiding now? And why did he feel the need to hide it?

Crowley slouched in his chair and turned on the TV with a snap of his fingers. He heard about a new Indian restaurant that had just opened up to glowing reviews. And he knew how much Aziraphale loved those spicy curries. He could pick up some tonight on the way to the bookshop.

An evening of wine, curry and chatting about annoying customers wasn’t exactly the sort of evening Crowley had hoped for, but he already knew he’d be happy to take it just the same.


End file.
